When Men are Afraid of the Light
by julieplecslittlebitch
Summary: Set a number of years after the S4 finale. Just a one-shot glimpse at Damon and Elena's married life. :)


_"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." -Plato_

* * *

"Honey, I'm home!" Damon called from the front door.

"I'm in here!" Elena called from the kitchen.

He walked toward her carrying the groceries from the farmer's market. He had honey, strawberries, squash, basil, blueberries, corn, green beans, eggs, and enough garlic to kill every mythical vampire on the planet.

He found her at the kitchen island slicing onions. Her hair was up in a ponytail and she was wearing one of his old button-downs with the sleeves rolled up, it was a hot day in June and beads of sweat glistened on her collarbone and forehead. She had the windows thrown open, and there was a strong scent of rose wafting into the room from the garden right outside. When Damon put the bags down in front of her, she smiled, but remained concentrated on her task.

"Damon, how long have we been married?" She inquired.

He chuckled and walked over behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, pretending to calculate, "Ummm, about three-and-a-half years now," he murmured into her ear.

Elena nodded, "And how many times have you made that 'I Love Lucy' reference?"

Damon chuckled and kissed her cheek, releasing her to sit on the stool across from her, "Not nearly enough, I'll tell you that." He rested his chin on his hand and watched her. She switched from onions to pickles.

So much had changed since Elena's high school days in Mystic Falls. She definitely wasn't a teenager anymore—she didn't even dress the same. Over time, her down-time wardrobe became much looser, less skimpy. She had substituted her deep V-neck mall sweaters for more practical wool and sophisticated cashmere. Her tight t-shirts had been replaced by more of what she was wearing now: a loose button-down and short jean-shorts. Her hair was shorter, more adult, and she had stopped straightening it, it was now constantly in a slightly-frizzy state that Damon thought suited her wonderfully. In fact, Elena hardly ever wore makeup anymore except for lip balm and a touch of eyeliner. Everything about her exuded a much more relaxed and settled Elena. Damon loved that. Especially since it reflected their married life—one of comfort, and one of more maturity.

After a few years of fearing for their lives, and another couple of enjoying their free, vampire immortality with travel, partying and luxury, Elena and Damon tied the knot, moved back to Mystic Falls where they rebuilt the old Salvatore mansion, and decided to settle down for a while to enjoy the last few years of family before they would have to leave in order to disguise the fact that they weren't aging. Despite Damon's history of being a perpetual nomad, he was ecstatic to finally have a home, albeit temporary. It was especially great because Elena got to make herself a place in the community as a young adult, and they could feel safe there. So safe, in fact, that Stefan stuck around too, working on his indulgence issues and rebuilding his relationship with Damon.

"So, what did you do today?" he started their routine conversation. Right now, Elena was preparing dinner—learning to cook was another thing she had gotten around to in the last few years.

She blushed before answering, "I hashed out another chapter before going to the writing class at the library."

"Great!" He congratulated, popping a blueberry into his mouth. _Yeah, that's fresh_. "Anything else?" He was pretty sure she wasn't blushing about the library.

"Well, I walked home through the park…"

"_Elena_," Damon warned.

"I know I know," she grumbled. She dropped the knife and wiped her hands on a dishtowel, abandoning the cutting board to walk around the counter to stand in front of her husband.

"There's no sense in torturing yourself," Damon's eyes were sympathetic as he braced himself for a conversation they had all but exhausted.

Elena stood between his legs and put her hands on his shoulders, "Damon, I'm okay. Really. You should have seen April's daughter! She's walking now, can you believe it?"

When Damon and Elena got married, the point was to commemorate what they already knew—their immortality was to be spent with each other. It was a beautiful ceremony, and an even better honeymoon. After the first couple of years, however, it became abundantly clear to both of them that something was missing, something unavoidable, but something Damon had tried not to think about when Elena finally accepted her life as a vampire. They could never have children, and at this point, Elena had been to desperation and back about it.

"Has it really been that long?" Damon remembered when April's daughter was born—she named her May. _How very creative._

Elena nodded excitedly, "And she's talking so much more now, April can barely keep up!"

Damon looked into her eyes, she could pretend all she wanted, he knew the day she was going to break was coming soon, and he knew _the talk_ was on the tip of her tongue.

"Damon…"

_There it is,_ he thought, so he cut her off, "No, Elena, we are not talking about this again."

"But Damon—"

"No!" He stood up from the stool, unconsciously giving himself headway, "We've been over this and over this, kids are just not an option. It's part of being a vampire." He looked down into her eyes, there was barely an inch of space between their chests.

"We could adopt!" Elena insisted, "There are kids everywhere that need homes, and we could give them a wonderful one!" She gestured to the humongous mansion around them.

"Yeah, sure, between the life-and-death adventures, the immortality, and the fact that we're not even human—what's not to love?!" Damon left her and walked toward the cupboard to pour himself a shot of whiskey. Their voices were rising higher and higher by the second.

Elena followed him, "Damon, every family has challenges. It's nothing we couldn't work through."

"Oh yeah?" Damon's eyes were furious, and behind them clicked image after image of Elena crying, mourning people ripped away from her, "What happens when they grow up, Elena? What happens when they're no longer innocent children? What happens when they get to your age and you can't be their mother anymore? Then guess what happens? They'll grow old and they'll _die_." He growled and poured himself another drink, "The more people you have in your life, the more people you'll lose."

Elena sighed, "Who knows? Who knows what our children would be like? They might choose this life. We might never have to lose any of them," she pleaded, "Please, Damon. I want a family."

His shoulders drooped and her reached a hand up to cup her face, "You have a family already," his eyes begged, "Jeremy's still growing up, he'll have a kid one day. Caroline will be back from Italy soon," he hesitated, "and you've got me. I will always be your family. Isn't that enough?"

She leaned forward to embrace him, and nuzzled her lips at the base of Damon's neck. This conversation always came back to this. She sighed, rested her hand on his hard stomach, and rubbed it affectionately. "You're everything," she reassured him, "and I love you."

She could feel him relax slightly, and she continued, "But I just can't believe you don't want this as much as I do," she felt him tense up again immediately.

Ever since she had gotten it into her head that she wanted kids, she couldn't get rid of the image of Damon as a father. She could picture it now, him cradling their daughter while she screamed at night, teaching her how to walk, singing her old love songs to sleep. She imagined them having a son with blue eyes, just like his, playing catch with his dad in the back yard. Under the loving care of their beautiful, superman of a father, Elena had no doubt in her mind that she would have a bunch of smart asses growing up around her. They would, of course, be extremely intelligent, intensely funny, and absolutely stylish. No, no way in hell did Damon not want to be a Dad.

"I would be a terrible father," he confessed.

"Damon Salvatore!" Elena looked up at him, "Don't you ever say that! Never in a thousand years. You would make a wonderful father."

She squeezed him even harder, and then mumbled into his chest, "You love with more fierceness than anyone I've ever met in my entire life. Any child would be lucky to have you for a dad."

His chest constricted and a catch appeared in his throat. They had never really talked about his role in this hypothetical future. It was mainly just Elena's maternal instincts flying everywhere and Damon trying to keep her from having a break down.

Damon chuckled heartlessly and gestured to the empty glass in his hands, "Yeah, I'm one hell of a role model. What with the booze and the womanizing and the anger issues."

"_Our _children," she put a strong emphasis on the word "our," "would grow up knowing the importance of being honest with yourself, and with others. They would be incredibly intelligent and worldly and would never feel unloved a second of their lives," she grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at her, "_that's_ what you would be as a father, nothing less. You're a very different person now than when we first met. Hell, you're a different person than you were when we first got together. You hardly ever get mad anymore, you're a wonderful, faithful husband, and the booze, well, we can work on that. You are nothing if not capable of growth."

Damon's eyes started stinging as he looked into the eyes of his too-young, too-hardened wife.

She continued to talk, "There are too many empty rooms in this house, and too many empty spots in our lives. You need to be a father just as much as I need to be a mother," she turned to face him and pressed her hands to his chest, and they leaned against the sink.

"Can't you imagine a little baby girl lying on your chest? Her tiny hands clutching your shirt?" She smiled and her imagination went into overdrive, "You need a little girl, Damon," she giggled, "she'd have you wrapped around her little finger."

_A girl?_ Damon never really pictured a girl. He always imagined having a son—maybe one that looked too much like Stefan. He had imagined himself projecting all of his own Daddy issues onto the poor kid, failing like he had failed with his younger brother, losing him like he had lost everyone else he loved too much. But a girl, he could picture that being okay. He could spoil her, and teach her how to play the piano, and sing to her. When she got to be a teenager, however, she would probably hate him, because no way in hell was any boy ever getting to touch her. Thank god for vampire strength. His mind started racing with images of the future. He pictured a room near theirs that had a small balcony that he could set up for a little girl. Maybe she would like to play dress-up with some of his family's old stuff. He could rustle up an old cherry toy chest he knew was still somewhere in the boarding house from when he was a kid. Maybe he could even build her a dollhouse.

"A daughter, huh?" He said, pulling Elena to his chest, finally surrendering, "I think I could want that."

She crumpled into his arms and squeezed him tightly, but didn't say anything. She didn't want to jinx it. He was considering it, she knew he had a long way to go before they could even make solid plans, but he was considering it. Her heart sored with hope and a single tear of relief slid down her cheek.

Damon pressed his lips to the top of Elena's head. His stomach was full of butterflies. They were really going to do this, there was no backing out now. _Huh_, he thought, _I'm gonna be a dad_.

* * *

Like Elena, I cannot imagine Damon not being a father. This story was requested by an anon on my tumblr (julieplecslittlebitch). Drop a review, I hope you liked it! :)


End file.
